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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985114">Tickled to Pieces</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbekkable/pseuds/imbekkable'>imbekkable</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, No beta we kayak like Tim, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:21:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24985114</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbekkable/pseuds/imbekkable</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin is ticklish. He hasn't felt the need to tell anyone about it.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p>A short drabble full of fluff set in the Scottish safehouse period.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>129</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tickled to Pieces</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this short thing for <a href="https://annbun.tumblr.com">Anna</a> a while ago and thought to myself, why not upload it? So here it is. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martin was ticklish.</p><p> </p><p>It was a fact and he hadn’t felt the need to tell anyone about it because it had been a while since anyone had even come close enough for it to be relevant. In fact, it had been so long that he had almost forgotten about it himself. Which was why he hadn’t thought about telling Jon.</p><p> </p><p>It was a rainy Sunday evening, although it could have been any day of the week, as the both of them spent most of their days in the same manner: Martin would get up at seven, <em>an ungodly hour</em>, as Jon liked to call it, and enjoy the quiet of the morning. Sometimes, he’d go for a little walk and watch and listen as the insects and animals around him moved and ate and sang to each other, communicated with each other, undisturbed by loud and clumsy humans. He’d recognize himself in their solitude, but also in their togetherness, and would often go home with a heart even fuller with love for the one that was waiting there for him.</p><p> </p><p>On some days, Martin would prepare breakfast for them; eggs and bacon and black tea and beans and roasted tomatoes. Sometimes, it was just toast. He’d always make sure to serve it in a way it would make Jon smile – by creating a funny face out of the vegetables, or by folding the serviette into a heart. It was one of Martin’s favourite Jon-smiles – the one in the morning, when he was still barely awake. Earnest. Real. <em>Jon</em>.</p><p> </p><p>On certain days, Martin would have to drag Jon out of the bed by his ankles, lift him up and carry him into the kitchen, all while Jon’s protests turned into giggles. And Martin started to wonder whether Jon did it on purpose, at times at least.</p><p> </p><p>They’d find something to do during their day, to keep their hands busy. Martin liked to knit and write and read fantasy novels and chop wood for their fireplace and most of all, he liked to watch Jon. Jon, who played darts and dug over the earth for the vegetable patch and furrowed his brow while reading biographies and fumbled with the fretsaw while trying to build a birdhouse for their little garden.</p><p> </p><p>There were times when Jon got frustrated and Martin got sad – times when they sought comfort and found it in each other’s arms. They’d cry there, on bad days, and smile there, on good ones.</p><p> </p><p>And every evening, without doubt, they would reach out, longing for the warmth of the other, and hold each other close. They’d kiss and they would cuddle, and Martin would feel like he was in a dream.</p><p> </p><p>So, it could have been any other day, and yet this Sunday was different. They were lying in the bed upstairs, quiet, no words between them. Martin’s hand was in Jon’s hair, curling it around his fingers like it was the most precious thing he ever got to touch. Jon moved next to him and dragged himself on top of his body, lying there as if it was the most comfortable place to be, like a cat on a cushion. Martin moved his hands over his back, slowly yet determined, knowing that Jon enjoyed feeling the palm of his hands rather than his fingertips. Jon sighed against his neck where his face was buried, and followed him suit, moving his hands along his sides. There were many nights were Jon had refrained from touching Martin in such a way and Martin had assured him that it was alright. There was no need to rush. They had time.</p><p> </p><p>So, this was new to him, to both of them. Jon’s hands moved from the sides of his hips, up to his stomach and finally, his ribs. Martin’s breath got caught in his throat but before he could give Jon a warning, it was already too late. He doubled up with laughter, shoving Jon from his body before moving away, catching his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m- I didn’t-“ Jon started, but Martin was waving his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“No! I’m so sorry, Jon, I forgot to mention; I’m really ticklish,” he moved closer again, lying back down on his side, taking Jon’s hands into his while doing so. Jon seemed to relax and lied back down as well, facing Martin. “Sorry that I pushed you.”</p><p> </p><p>Jon shook his head ever so slightly, freeing one hand to stroke his cheek.</p><p> </p><p>“How have I never noticed that before?” Jon was looking at him with big eyes, curious, inquisitive. Martin shrugged and kissed the hand he was holding.</p><p> </p><p>“Never came up.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s still so much I have to discover about you, Martin Blackwood,” and as Jon spoke, he moved closer until his lips almost met Martin’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I hope you’ll never stop.”</p><p> </p>
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